


Conspicuous

by dreamingseventeen



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Cheol is a blushing sweetheart, F/M, Go easy on me AO3, This is the first fic I ever wrote for Seventeen and boy is the nostalgia real
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-28 20:38:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18763786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamingseventeen/pseuds/dreamingseventeen
Summary: A very frustrated reader is failing her Korean class while an equally flustered Seungcheol is struggling in English. A dash of mischief, some cute tutoring, and so, so much fluff. (Foreign Student!Reader x Haksaeng!Seungcheol)





	Conspicuous

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I'm uploading from my tumblr blog. I hope you enjoy!

It was not easy being an exchange student in Korea; you never claimed it was. Whatever possessed you to move from your home country to the world’s peak nation of academic competitiveness you couldn’t remember, but it was too late to turn back. You were the only non-Korean you knew of in the entire school– perhaps every other foreigner had given up– so the standards were never lowered. You were to march to the same drum as all the Korean students, and at times, that drum was far too harsh.

Take Calculus for example. Back home, the finding and properties of derivatives and integrals of functions wasn’t exactly easy, but it was possible. Your teacher was always willing to help individual students and, most importantly, everyone spoke English. But as you sat in the back of your Korean Calculus class (yes, the very back: you showed up to class your first day and the only open desk was a lonely slab of wood beneath a cruel air vent), you might as well have been asleep. The teacher stood behind his podium like an imposing statue, lecturing nonstop, and only said “Any questions?” just before the bell rang each day. Fearful of your next teacher, you scurried out despite being dazed and horribly confused. Each afternoon of yours was spent in that same classroom in tutoring, which arguably still didn’t help.

You promised your calculus teacher you would come, as he was so concerned about your grades that he had made it a requirement or else you would be pulled from the class. “I promise I can do it, I’m just a little behind everyone else, the Korean students, I mean… as you already know,” you sputtered. He chuckled every time.

But what was much more interesting than the droning of your teacher was his student aide: Choi Seungcheol. He sat in the very front during third period each day and paced the aisles between the desks during afternoon tutoring sessions. The faint scent of cotton and traces of cologne followed him past you, and you noticed yourself gripping your pencil a little tighter. “Ms. Y/N, are you still with us?” Your teacher would call, not stopping his chalk or tearing his vision from the board.

“Of course, sir,” you would stutter. Not once did you notice Seungcheol’s amused smirk behind you.

Calculus was difficult, but there was one class nearly unbearable: Korean. “The study of Hangul and its Chinese origins in reference to Korean history is a discipline that will be indispensable to you later in life,” your teacher, Mrs. Jung, proclaimed every day, hitting her palm with the chalkboard pointer on each syllable. “If you cannot master our language, you cannot master university, the work force…”

“Guess you won’t be getting a job,” your seatmate, Jeonghan, whispered to you. You elbowed him and both of you stifled a laugh.

“Shut up, you two,” Mingyu, the tall boy in front of you, spun around and fussed.

“Quiet, you’re the reason I can’t even see the board,” you retorted, earning a high-five from Mingyu’s seatmate, Wonwoo. Jeonghan put his head down and cackled into the desk.

“Mrs. Y/N!” Mrs. Jung yelled. “I’d like you to read an excerpt from the Uigwe of the Joseon Period. Class, please open your textbooks to page 237 and follow along.”

You were glad every other student had their noses stuck in the bindings of their books or everyone would have witnessed the definitive flame that spread across your face. You heard Jeonghan mutter “you’re so screwed” and a sound a lot like a gasp came out of Wonwoo. The most you ever could stand to read of Korean outside of school were manhwas and the occasional short story; classic Korean literature was a whole new level.

You held the weighty textbook up to your face as your heart dropped beneath your chair. Each sentence presented a new challenge and despite Jeonghan whispering the correct pronunciation of certain words under his breath, in your own world you sounded like a complete idiot. You finally finished the page, tears welling in your eyes, and Jeonghan patted your shoulder. Several other students, including Seungcheol, read the next few pages perfectly while you laid your head in your arms. “Show-offs,” Jeonghan said, but you couldn’t erase the frown or ashamed blush from your face.

“These are your quizzes from last Friday,” the teacher announced towards the end of class, strolling by each desk and slapping packets face-down on each one. “Per usual, I am very impressed with most of my fourth period–” she shot you and Wonwoo a glare, “and your effort shows in your grades.”

“Hey Y/N, our effort shows in our grades,” Wonwoo chuckled, proudly showing you his 75 in red ink. You mustered up the strength to laugh, still not flipping over your own paper. Jeonghan sighed and slid his quiz into his folder, even though you were sure his score was at least double yours.

“A 99, per usual,” Mingyu wiggled his shoulders with a self-assured grin. “She always deducts a point because I only put ‘Mingyu’ at the top of my paper– I mean, really, what other Mingyu is there in the school, especially one as smart as me?” Wonwoo snorted and you clamped your hand over your mouth so you didn’t scream with laughter. Jeonghan simply shook his head and left, backpack in tow. Your amusement passed and you were left frozen in your seat, staring down the boding back of your quiz; you eventually decided to leave your score a mystery and angrily shoved it into the bottom of your bag.

“Ms. Y/N, I would like you to start staying after school on for tutoring,” Mrs. Jung called from her desk.

“I understand, ma’am, but I’m also required to attend Calculus tutoring,” you explained, your voice almost shaking.

You watched her lift and depress her shoulders while her hands and fingers twisted together, squeezed, then released. “Mornings at 7, then,” she demanded, her mouth a fine line.

“Of course,” you were forced to say out of respect to your superior, but inside a piece of you died: the piece that appreciated more than four hours of sleep. You swung your bag over your shoulder and trudged out, the tears from your earlier embarrassment reappearing.

Fifth period was English, your only safe haven during your often miserable days at school. Your teacher was a pleasant half-Korean, half-Caucasian woman with warm eyes and a doting personality. She intentionally sat you and your friend, Hansol (otherwise known as “Vernon,” which he would suavely say to girls before winking and biting his lip) in a pair of desks by the window in the back right corner. You would both converse in English, mostly complaining about the difficulty of the classes, especially the tyrant of a Korean teacher, and occasionally nap in the sunshine. Mrs. Jones graciously pretended not to notice.

Thank goodness you could ace English tests without paying attention, because your biggest distraction by far sat right in front of you: Seungcheol. Jeonghan, his best friend, sat on his right side and just like in Korean, would turn and make jokes, sending you and Hansol into fits of laughter. The most Seungcheol had ever done was turn around and borrow your eraser. You would never say it aloud but this disappointed you greatly, and your stomach sank whenever whole fifth periods would pass by without Seungcheol speaking once.

“Ah! I forgot, these are your unit tests from Friday, please pass them back and do refrain from checking out your friends’s scores,” Mrs. Jones scrambled just before the bell rang for lunch. Everyone dove at their papers, especially Jeonghan, who bounced up and down at the sight of an 88. You and Hansol made paper planes out of your usual 100s. The students strolled out of class to lunch, chatting among each other about their grades, while you and Hansol moved up to the desks in front of your teacher and pulled out your sandwiches. It was almost a tradition to stay in and chat with Mrs. Jones instead of wandering the bustling cafeteria.

While you and Hansol were joking with each other, a concerned Mrs. Jones strained to look past your shoulder. “Mr. Seungcheol, can I help you?”

You swung around, perhaps a little too fast, with a surprised Hansol not much slower. A shy Seungcheol (had you ever seen him shy?) shuffled up to the front, clutching what you assumed was his test. “Mrs. Jones, I’m sorry to bother you,” he bowed slightly. You couldn’t help but notice how his accent split “Jones” into two syllables and you smiled in spite of yourself. It also didn’t help that his glossy, black fringe fell just above his long eyelashes or that you could see his gummy, pearly smile as he was embarrassed. 

“Not at all,” Mrs. Jones grinned. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s just that I’m not, erm– performing as well as I want to in your class and– I’m not saying you’re a bad teacher! I mean you’re obviously great, Jeonghan has improved a lot– I guess I just need some help. I know I’m not failing or anything, I just don’t want my parents to be disappointed,” he elaborated, almost all in one breath. He and Hansol were friends, and the one time you could tear your gaze from Seungcheol, you witnessed a smile creep across Hansol’s features.

“It’s very dignified of you to ask for help,” Mrs. Jones said, leaning forward in her chair. “A little tutoring never hurt anyone. Hansol, would you be willing to come a little early in the mornings to help?” She beamed at the boy next to you.

“I would, but I can’t get out of basketball practice,” he shrugged, taking another bite of his sandwich.

“Understandable. What about you, Ms. Y/N?” She inquired, tilting her head.

“I suppose I could,” you tried not to stutter. Hansol furrowed his brows, but you hardly noticed.

“Great! I’ll see you both at 7:15 tomorrow morning!” She clapped, obviously pleased. Her knowing smile lingered over you for a suspiciously long time.

“Thank you, Mrs. Jones,” he bowed. His eyes finally traveled over to you. The sunlight-washed room showed his gray-brown eyes so beautifully you felt dizzy for a moment. “And you too, Y/N,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching up ever so slightly. He strolled out, his shoulders a little higher than before, and you let out a rush of air you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“How gracious of you, Y/N,” Mrs. Jones winked. “If you’ll both excuse me, I have yet another department meeting.”

As she disappeared down the hallway, you felt a jab in the side from Hansol. “Ow! We’re the only ones in here now, there’s no need for violence,” you hissed.

“Y/N, didn’t you say you promised Dictator Jung you would come at 7 every morning for Hangul practice?” He exclaimed, a nervous smile plaguing his face.

You sat in shock for several seconds. “I’m in trouble, aren’t I?” You gulped. His silence was enough of an answer as you slouched in your seat, wishing to disappear into the polished wood floor.

When your alarm mercilessly ripped you from sleep at 5 the next morning, you slammed down on your clock so hard that you feared you had broken it. You had considered approaching Mrs. Jung and offering to stop Calculus tutoring in exchange for her class, but you were terrified of changing her decree and of failing Calculus; moreover, you were too fond of Mrs. Jones (”and of Seungcheol,” Hansol had texted you) to back out. Therefore, you were in a haze of uncertainty, nerves, and exhaustion as you stumbled to school.

When you slid into Mrs. Jung’s room at 7, you sighed with relief at the the sight of a sleepy but present Wonwoo and several other academic stragglers. They were strewn about the room, but mostly concentrated in the back to avoid being too close to an early-morning, cranky version of Mrs. Jung. You plopped down next to Wonwoo.

“How’s it going?” You said with a yawn and a stretch.

“Oh, just fantastic. I slept for a grand total of three hours after finishing dance practice, hours of homework, and showering before waking up at 6 to come here and listen to my absolute favorite, Dictator Jung,” his deep voice groaned, eliciting an empathetic laugh from you. “What about you?”

“Actually,” you spoke lowly. “I could use some help from you.”

He scoffed. “What shenanigans am I becoming a part of now?”

“Listen!” You mumbled with a pout. “I accidentally promised Mrs. Jones I would tutor Seungcheol–” Wonwoo’s left brow raised, as did his cheeks, “at 7:15, and I would hate to let her down.”

“Oh, so you need aid from Jeon Wonwoo, the master of disguise and distraction?” He shoved one finger into your forehead, pushing you back.

“That would be nice,” you breathed. Suddenly, Mrs. Jung’s voice boomed from the front, signalling the beginning of the tutoring session. You slid 5,000₩ under his notebook and began to furiously scribble down notes, anxiously watching the clock above the chalkboard and raising your hand, asking meaningless questions as a way to feign engagement. Luckily, Mrs. Jung was impressed.

At 7:13, Wonwoo’s hand shot up. “Mrs. Jung, I don’t think I fully understand that paragraph,” he pointed to the board. “Can I go up and show you how I would interpret it?” A pleasantly surprised Mrs. Jung nodded vigorously and offered up her dwindling piece of chalk. Her eyes, along with everyone else’s, followed his actions as he slowly formed Korean characters on the board. You grabbed your backpack, tip-toed out the back door, and thanked your lucky stars for your fellow misfit.

You practically sprinted to Mrs. Jones’ room. As you flew by the gymnasium, you saw Hansol’s eyes catch you, and as you disappeared from the other end of the long window, you could’ve sworn he gave you a thumbs-up. You stepped through Mrs. Jones’ doorway just as the minute hand ticked over, and with wind-swept hair and weak knees, you gave her and Seungcheol a smile.

“Right on time, Ms. Y/N,” she laughed. “I have an appointment with the principal, so if you’ll excuse me,” she said, slipping past you and shutting the door. You were in absolute awe: the class was entirely empty, as apparently no Korean student could bear English tutoring so early in the morning. A part of you understood that feeling.

Seungcheol sat in the first desk, his dark blue student jacket clinging to his lean torso nicely. You glanced over the brass name tag, “Choi Seuncheol,” and your eyes wandered to his fitted khakis and clean black Converse. You could never get over how put-together he always looked.

“Good morning,” his deep but smooth voice broke through your thoughts. You looked up and found him practically beaming at you in the fluorescent light, as it was so early the sun outside was barely coming through the windows.

“Oh, hello,” you sang with a quick shake of your head. “Sorry if I sound out of breath, I’ve had quite a crazy morning,” you explained partially, stacking your textbooks on the desk next to him.

“Sorry you have to come so early, if I had known Mrs. Jones was going to have another student do it I wouldn’t have–”

“It’s really okay,” you reassured him with a smile. “If you can go through the misery of grading my papers in Calculus or listening to me in Korean class, this is the least I can do,” you joked.

He smiled down at his open textbook. There was so much he wanted to say, like how your effort amazed him despite your Korean teacher being so hard on you or how he spent most of his afternoons mesmerized by your concentrated face in Calculus tutoring. But you hardly new him, so they stuck to the back of his mind obnoxiously. “Well, thank you anyway.”

“Okay, Seungcheol, our latest unit was over advanced verb conjugation. This is one of the harder parts of English, as many of our verbs don’t follow a set pattern of conjugation, though some do,” you talked animatedly. Seungcheol watched you, surprisingly engaged, with one hand on his cheek and the other twiddling with his pencil. “You did surprisingly well on this last test. If I were you, I wouldn’t even bother with tutoring,” you laughed.

“No, I want to do better,” he said pointedly.

You spent the next forty minutes practicing with verb conjugation flashcards, and each time your hands brushed with Seungcheol’s, your fingers tingled. It was the most casual and carefree you had ever seen him, other than the occasional warm afternoon when he played pick-up basketball with Hansol and his friends. “Wow, you’re doing really well,” you said, more to yourself than to Seungcheol, and his stomach did flips. You practically leaped out of your seat when your watch displayed 7:55. “Sorry, Seungcheol, I’ve gotta go,” you apologized. “I’ll see you in Calculus!”

Choi Seungcheol laughed to himself as you bolted down the hall.

“So then he said, ‘The bird flied away,’ instead of ‘flew’ and I had to try so hard not to laugh, Hannie,” you explained to your attentive seatmate in Korean class.

“Wow, you must really like him,” Jeonghan rolled his eyes playfully. “I still can’t believe you sneaked out of here.”

“Me neither,” you heard Wonwoo quietly jeer. “I had to hold Mrs. Jung’s attention for forty minutes. I thought she was gonna fall over dead.”

“Probably for the better,” Jeonghan snickered.

You shook your head and actually tried to pay attention to the board, taking notes down furiously, sitting on your knees so you could see past Mingyu’s head. You had to suppress a smile when Seungcheol raised his hand and gave yet another witty response to a question, making the whole class at least giggle. Even Mrs. Jung seemed mildly amused. You felt your phone buzz and hid it behind your textbook.

Vernon the Rap God: your boyfriend is especially funny today.

Your heart raced but you had an instant urge to scoff.

Y/N: you’re so incredibly funny that it’s no wonder they keep you on the bench in basketball– to make sure everyone on the sidelines is entertained!

You looked over to where Hansol sat in the front right corner. He twisted around and stuck his tongue out. Jeonghan saw and laughed along with you.

“Ms. Y/N,” Mrs. Jung yelled, barely missing you slide your phone back into your pocket. “Why do you think the author, in this particular instance, pointed out that a crow was sitting above our two main characters in a tree branch?”

You spun your pen through your fingers and thought for several moments, and for the second time that day you felt incredibly lucky. “I think the author’s trying to convey that if the two lovers can only meet in the dead of night, at a specified time, then their future together is doomed anyway. A lot like Romeo and Juliet, I think.”

Mrs. Jung nodded with her brows raised. The incessant drumming of the pointer on her palm finally ended. “A thoughtful assessment. Would anyone else like to add to what Ms. Y/N said?”

Seungcheol’s hand shot up, and when Mrs. Jung called on him, even the quick-witted boy seemed surprised he had done it. “Erm, but at the end of the scene, as the sun is rising, the crow flies away, and the two are still together. Doesn’t that bode well for them? I haven’t read to the end, but it seems like a good sign to me,” he trailed off.

“A good sign indeed,” Mrs. Jung noted. The bell rang and as your eyes momentarily met Seungcheol’s, you tried not to make it obvious that your heart was beating in your throat.

In English, you leaned back in your chair in an attempt to physically and emotionally distance yourself from Seungcheol. He was way out of your league, being one of the most hardworking and popular boys at school. His presence right in front of you was nearly overpowering, so you tried to distract yourself with mindless talk with Hansol. “I’ll get you back for that basketball comment earlier,” he swore. You watched him doodle a cartoonish picture of him strangling you.

“Who’s that?” You pointed to a figure he drew last.

“It’s Seungcheol, looking on in dismay.”

Weeks went on like this, with you paying Wonwoo to distract Mrs. Jung, only for you to return forty minutes later to show your face again, like you had never left. The morning sessions with Seungcheol were worth it– even if it meant you getting up at 5 A.M. and losing 5,000₩ to Wonwoo, though he sometimes did it for free “out of the goodness of his heart.” Seungcheol began absentmindedly spending more time by your desk in Calculus tutoring, even if you didn’t ask a question, and began intentionally being more gracious when grading your papers.

Good things rarely last forever, however, and you knew you could only keep the façade going for so long. Either you were going to run out of funds or Mrs. Jung was going to finally catch on to your antics. It was a Friday morning when you finally decided you were going to have to disappoint Seungcheol.

“Awesome,” Seungcheol simpered, gathering his things together slowly. “We’ll meet back here Monday morning, then?”

“Actually, Seungcheol,” you sighed. “I don’t think I can tutor you anymore.”

He froze, his mouth agape while you tried to avoid his eye contact. “Why?”

“Truth be told, Seungcheollie, I regularly um– skip my Korean tutoring in the mornings. I enjoy helping you but I can’t keep skipping.” Your words were barely audible.

Seungcheol’s features instantly softened. He stood up and leaned over your desk, making him dangerously close to your face. You could smell the spearmint gum on his breath. “You face the possible wrath of Mrs. Kim so you can come tutor me every morning?”

You were lost in his irises for a concerning amount of time. “Uh, y-yeah.”

He smirked. It was the most smug, confident one you had ever seen. “How cute.”

Before you let yourself melt into the chair, you jumped up and dashed back into Mrs. Jung’s room.

You spent the rest of the day with your head down in every class, except in Calculus, in fear that you would fall further behind than you already were. You did your best not to even look at the back of Seungcheol’s head, only to be anxious about your inevitable close proximity in Calculus tutoring in the afternoon. When English rolled around, you stopped by Mrs. Jones’ desk, saying you were nauseous (not necessarily a lie) and crawled onto the nurse’s cot with a hand over your eyes. You lied totally still for a half hour while the nurse dealt with an allergic reaction in one of the freshman classes. You jumped at the sound of a knock on the door frame.

Standing there with an absentee pass in his hand was, of course, Seungcheol.

“Hey, Y/N,” he murmured, slowly walking towards you. “Mrs. Jones sent me to ask whether or not you were going home.” He sat down on the side of the cot as you merely looked at the wall to your right, twiddling your thumbs. Eventually, he sighed and leaned forward.

“Fine. If you won’t talk, I will. Y/N, I have been madly in love with you since the day you walked into Calculus and introduced yourself in that cute little accent of yours. I have never been afraid to approach a girl in my life, but when I tried to think of things to say to you my mind just went blank. I get so jealous of Jeonghan and Hansol every day– they get to be so close to you! I’m sorry I scared you so much earlier. Please, just…” He placed his palm on your cheek. “Tell me that this feeling that you like me too isn’t just in my head.”

You smiled in disbelief before pressing your lips to his. They were so supple and sweet, and you could taste the gum he was always chewing. When you broke apart, all you could see was a dorky smile on his face.

“I hope you’re not really sick, then.”

You giggled into his shoulder. “Was I that conspicuous?”


End file.
